


Parallel Attraction

by 200percent_inlove



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Angst and Romance, Canon Related, Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, Friendship/Love, I'm 2 months overdue, My apologies LOL, Romance, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, ShuMako Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 03:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18044480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/200percent_inlove/pseuds/200percent_inlove
Summary: He isn’t her ideal type. Not even close. But she’s falling so, so deep – it drives her insane.





	Parallel Attraction

**Author's Note:**

> I fell in love with Persona 5 when I bought it last year, fell deeper down the rabbit hole from so many talented artists on Twitter and I've been itching to write something for my two lovelies, Makoto and Ren, ever since :3 And when ShuMako Week was announced, I was like "YES, time to write!" But alas, I soon realized: Makoto is a rather complex character to write for. That girl is too smart for her own good! But nonetheless, I sincerely hope that I did her character justice here.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :3 
> 
> (The coffee scene was inspired by a comic by nfoliage_ on Twitter :3 Thank-you so much for blessing the world with your artwork!)

The dutiful student council president, Makoto Niijima – always prim, always proper, never one to style her hair with anything else other than that brown hairband – had lists for practically everything imaginable:  Things to do, phone numbers to call, groceries to be restocked.

And, the last thing anybody would expect in their wildest daydreams, a lengthy record detailing her ideal type folded into a tiny three by three-inch square of lined paper that was used as a bookmark in her untouched encyclopedia.

It’s dreadfully out of character, for she has never _had_ an ideal type.  Makoto’s aspirations consisted solely of good universities, top-notch grades and most recently, dreams of becoming a defender of justice for the weak. None of which involved romantic affairs with _anybody_ for that matter. 

She’s simply too diligent with her studies to care. 

Too rigid and structured. 

A personality too robotic-like, so much so that even her charmingly large eyes and demure, feminine features would only catch someone’s attention for a brief second before they realized their efforts of flirting were fruitless.

“Excuses, excuses,” Ann Takamaki would say kindly whenever they stopped at the crepe stand for a quick snack. “Makoto, I’m sure you’re interested in dating, too. It’s your last year of high school.  Live a little!”

And while Makoto does want to argue hotly with the taller blonde, she reasons that perhaps deep within her subconscious, she _has_ thought about it. 

Growing up in a fatherless childhood made her miss the one person she turned to for protection when she was younger. So, maybe she wanted someone that reminded her of her late father:  Silently resilient, even in the face of turmoil, but provided undivided comfort and reassurance when she needed it.

That, and of course, the typical attributes that she had scribbled onto the dreaded, embarrassing list and tucked away from prying eyes:  A sense of dry humour, reliability, dependability (The most important trait in a future husband, Sae repeats this mantra regularly), patience and kindness. 

A rather typical list full of rather typical qualities. 

Qualities that she initially believed the new rebellious Shujin transfer, Ren Amamiya, didn’t carry.   

She knows it’s in poor taste to judge a person solely based on first impressions, but really, he showed up to school every single day with an untamable, messy bedhead of jet-black (Did he not own a brush?), his lazy posture with his hands in his pockets irked her to no end, and my _God_ , the incredible amount of cat hair that stuck stubbornly onto his clothes gave her sudden urges to run a lint roller up and down his body. Adding fuel to the fire, of course, were the countless rumours that circulated throughout the school like thick, impenetrable fog:  Masking his sadistic and violent tendencies behind that nonchalant façade, pulling knives on others, drug-dealing and the like.

Case closed:  He would never be her ideal type at all.

Well, at least that’s what she had proclaimed rather haughtily prior to her joining the Phantom Thieves.

Now, some months later, she finds herself unable to fall asleep when distinct memories of sitting inside a dimly-lit bar in the sleazy neighbourhood of Shinjuku and brief mentions of being each other's study partners flood back, crystal-clear. And it was about a week later after he wryly proclaimed that he’d be happy to teach her, she realizes in shock that it’s not her textbooks or impending university entrance exams keeping her up at night.

There’s something else making her kick her blankets into a mess that crumpled into a heap on the side of her bed, and it’s the silhouette of a lean boy in the recognizable fur-covered uniform, the thick-rimmed glasses, and the fluffy hair that was always in disarray.

She likes him.

She, the stereotypical _shojo_ manga protagonist, quintessential good girl, is head over heels for Ren Amamiya, the archetypal bad boy.

And she couldn’t understand it.

Maybe the whole ‘ _opposites attract_ ’ thing that Ann often mentioned held some truth. Or maybe, it was because of a yet-to-be-understood molecular mechanism happening deep within the human body that made her eternally dizzy whenever they were together. 

Either way, Makoto reasons that there must be a plausible explanation to this. Why she’s so deeply enamored, why he makes her feel the way she does (A tiny bit of nervousness, intermingled with a dash of anxiety and yearning whenever he stood two centimeters too close for comfort), why she finds herself spiraling uncontrollably down the rabbit hole.

And she’s utterly determined to get to the bottom of this.

Because being Makoto Niijima, once she put her mind to something, there was no stopping her until she reached her goal.  

* * *

Coffee is the first thing that she scribbles onto yet another list.

It’s ludicrous to even _think_ of what he would do to her beverage whenever she dropped by Leblanc for an impromptu ‘ _visit_ ’. But then again, she muses as she hurries up from the platform of Yongen Jaya Station and into the familiar backstreets, covered with deep puddles from the sudden downpour of rain, he did have a rather secretive relationship with the attractive, blue-bobbed doctor from up the street.

Dr. Tae Takemi was her name if she remembered correctly after passing by the tiny, cramped clinic several times on the way to the crumbling movie theatre from across. Often clad in black stilettos, heavy eyeliner accentuating that porcelain-like face that turned heads within a fifteen-feet radius. Her medication (As suspicious as it may be) worked wonders during their weekly runs in Mementos. And frankly, if one capsule replenished her back to full health after a torturous battle with strong Shadows, then who’s to say that she can’t conjure up a _love potion_?  

A bit out there, perhaps, but Makoto _really_ needs to witness this for herself.

Stepping into the homey café, she inhales the scent of freshly-ground coffee beans and a large pot of curry, bubbling away on the stove. Having made this café her main go-to (Primarily since she could also see her boyfriend – two birds, one stone as they say), her nose has started to become accustomed to the different types of beans and their distinctive flavours.

Today is no different: It’s Ethiopian Yirgacheffe.  One of her favourites for its tangy acidity and hints of bright citrus.

Behind the counter, Ren Amamiya greets her with a warm, roguish grin, donning the frayed apron with surprising flair.  He’s already physically attractive as is – what did the younger boy eat that made him look impeccably better than the fatigued baristas working in that famous coffee chain? Preposterous. “Good morning. Mona and Futaba are spending the day together, so we’ve got all the time in the world today.”

All the time in the world with Ren:  A rather pleasing thought. Makoto returns his gaze with a smile of her own, setting her bag aside as she makes herself comfortable on the stool. She’s - astonished, to say the least. Ren would’ve thrown a grumbling fit to Morgana if Sojiro had dragged him out of his deep slumber to assist with the regular morning rush – especially on a Sunday, too. Yet, here he is, perfectly awake and alert with his obsidian orbs sparkling brighter than all the stars in the night sky combined.

Clearly, grinding Hawaiian Kona on this casual Sunday was no big deal to him.

“Hello to you, too. I appreciate it.”

He never takes his eyes off her, even when she shrugs off her coat. And when she _does_ take notice - smoldering, intense, eager - she feels something hitting her right in the chest.

There it is again, that feeling.

And there _she_ is again, acting laughably foolish with a noticeably red face.

Either Ren doesn’t take notice (Of _course_ , he did! His Third Eye worked in reality, too, right?) or he simply decided to be merciful to her poor heart today. He picks up a canister of Blue Mountain, opening the jar before passing a few beans over to her to observe. “Would you like to try something new today?”

She nods approvingly at his selection after letting the scent waft through her nose. A sweep across the countertop shows nothing noticeably different – no capsules, no pills or powders. The thought of Dr. Takemi’s fictitious love potion was growing more ridiculous by the second. “Forgive me if I sound rude, but I thought the Ethiopian Yirgacheffe you were brewing was for me.”

“Well, now.” Wry grin in place, he presses the tip of his finger against her curtain of bangs covering her forehead. “A girl that knows her coffee like the back of her own hand. I’m _very_ impressed.”

“I’m slowly, but surely learning how to differentiate between sarcasm and actual awe,” She replies, swatting his hand away playfully. “Besides, how pretentious would I be to claim myself as an expert without giving thanks to the actual caffeine connoisseur?”

He wipes his hands on a tea towel, crossing his arms across his chest with an adorable, childish pout on his face. Foolish as it may be, it makes her heart twinge in utmost delight when she sees him like this – his coy, flirtatious side reserved solely for her only. Like a personal treasure that only she had access to. “Makoto, tell me honestly. Do you enjoy my presence at all?”

And just a split second later, his head is angled dangerously close, lips hovering only a few centimetres away from her own. He smells like coffee. Always, always, _always_ smells like coffee. Caffeine is not supposed to be intoxicating or render one incapable of functioning, but the only thing whirling around in her mind was, were they going to...no, _will_ they kiss?

Makoto excels in many things:  Formulating battle strategies, commanding the attention of her fellow classmates with her iron fist, and patching up wounds in the Metaverse.

_(A bit ironic with the last two, to be honest)._

Kissing, unfortunately, is not one of them.  Ren’s reassured her that he’ll take this as slowly as she wants, but even for someone as aloof as her when it came to romantic affairs, she’s aware he wants her to take the initiative and guide him, too. She tries – she's _really_ , really trying. Once in a blue moon, she’ll attempt to take him by surprise with a hefty yank on his blazer and collide her mouth onto his jawline clumsily.

Only for her to lose her nerve and stupidly gap at him before shakily releasing her hold on him. 

Other days, though, it’s primarily _her_ that’s taken aback by his coquettish remarks, his hand that lingers a tad bit too long on inconspicuous places, his rather lean physique that tempts her into doing things beyond her control.

Like now.

Her mouth parts halfway open, throat suddenly constricting dry as she tries to find the proper words to answer him with. That devious flash says everything:  She’s vulnerable putty playing right into his hands. 

“Or,” He continues, suddenly pulling away. His nimble calloused fingers that were dancing enchantingly on her skin suddenly wraps around a tea cup, decorated in blue floral, and he sets it in front of her. Whatever sexual tension there was left dissipates into thin air as if it had never happened. “Are you really just reaping in the benefits of dating me through free, expensive coffee?” 

 _God, what do you think?!_ Makoto is rarely one to unleash curses, but with the way he’s acting – the push and pull, the aggravating near-miss kiss. Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Ren Amamiya is a dastardly enticing distraction.

Sucking in a deep breath to calm the rapid beating of her heart, she says after taking a few seconds to recover, “You can decide for yourself, Joker.  Now, while I do encourage waking up earlier to make the most of your day, _why_? I mean,” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Today is a Sunday, after all. Wouldn’t you have preferred to get some more sleep today?”

“Unfortunately,” Ren pulls a stool opposite of Makoto, resting his chin on his palm. “I don’t get much time with a rather beautiful student council president because the lovely girl is constantly studying. While I do enjoy my sleep,” It’s the sincere gaze he’s sending into her eyes – not his compliment – that leaves her breathless once more. “I’ll live.”

 Speechless, Makoto lowers her head bashfully, staring into the murky liquid before her. “...I, um, I see.”

“Go on, give it a taste.” He drops two brown sugar cubes in, along with a small pour of milk. The dark-brown melts into a warmer, sensual shade of caramel – just the way she preferred. “Let me know how you like it.”

One sip, and Ren’s confidence swells in his chest from watching her reaction of wonderment. “I brew good coffee, don’t I?”

Makoto returns his smile. “I have a new favourite.”

“I’m glad.”

If mere observation of his workspace didn’t show anything, then perhaps a direct approach was necessary. “Tell me something, Ren. I’m sure that your expertise in brewing such delectable drinks doesn’t just come from having a good teacher. What else do you do?”

“Aside from having Sojiro snap at me about grinding the beans too much or steaming the milk a second too long?” Ren chuckles. “Well,” His eyebrow raises in a way that shows he’s really reflecting on his training. “I don’t think it’s anything in particular that he’s taught me. He does like to say that things are naturally sweeter when you do it for someone you l - “

Ren pauses mid-sentence, showing the faintest signs of apprehension – something that Makoto never sees in the overly confident young man. She wants nothing more than for him to keep going. Instead of continuing, however, he ruffles her hair and concludes simply, “But, I’ll leave that up in the air for you to think about, my Queen.” Turning away, he begins making light work on the dishes that were waiting to be washed.

Spontaneous gesture aside, she sets a mental reminder to cross off ‘ _coffee_ ’ when she returns home. Nevermind that she’s only had one taste; she was already a tiny bundle of frazzled nerves when bright crimson met stony obsidian. 

Back to square one, she muses disappointedly.

But first things first, Sunday mornings required more coffee and light-hearted witty banter from the young man she was fortunate enough to call her boyfriend.

* * *

They say that the way to a woman’s (Or a man’s, really) heart was through food.  And Makoto doesn’t deny that she secretly _loved_ Ren’s cooking. Albeit, it was Sojiro’s efforts and the late Wakaba’s recipe that lead to the pot of perfection stewing away on the gas stove. Ren was merely following the step-by-step instructions, but still.

A week after their time together at Leblanc, Makoto is there again after receiving Ren’s text message, asking if she’d like to have a meal together. She agrees.

They’re not alone, though – Futaba came crashing into her body, clinging onto her forearm like a kitten pawing for attention when she walked in. And Makoto is nervously frightful, the feeling stirring uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. The most likely reasoning behind it was probably the fact that they haven’t made their relationship known to the others yet; everything was still very hush-hush.

But once she gets there and ties the apron around her waist with Ren’s help (Futaba’s eyebrow quirks up in suspicion, and Morgana exchanges a wary glance with the younger woman, but both remain silent), Makoto figures that even if _they_ did find out, did it matter in the long run? It shocks her briefly with how receptive she is now; she would’ve never been this open-minded in the past. She ought to give thanks to Ren for broadening her horizons.    

It starts off modestly simple. Futaba’s busily jabbing away at her phone with Morgana in one of the booths. Ren chops the vegetables expertly into tiny slivers, Makoto has the onions sizzling in peanut oil. He tosses the potatoes in with one hand, she measures the seasonings as per his instructions and tosses them in whenever she saw fit. And so far, there’s nothing he’s done to their ingredients that warrants suspicion. Maybe the curry wasn’t to be blamed.

“Teamwork, right?” Ren asks brightly as he passes her a ladle to stir the pot with.

Futaba – with Inari abandoned and left on read, and absolutely loving the scenario unfolding before her eyes – mumbles, “ _Married life_ teamwork is more like it.”

The three syllables knock Makoto off balance. Literally:  Tripping awkwardly over her feet, she makes a grab for the fridge while Ren watches on, unconsciously holding up his hand to support her just in case. “M-marrie – !?”

“No need to get nervous,” Ren chuckles, patting her lower back. “Marriage is _far_ off in the future.”

 _“Miles_ off,” She agrees with a nod, but the weak smile she displays proves otherwise.  

Just then, the younger girl scampers over with a loud shout, disturbing her train of thought completely. “I’m hungry! Is it ready, is it ready?!”  

“Now, now, Futaba. I’m sure you’re aware that patience is a virtue?”

“Well, of _course_ , I know.” How lovable. The way she pouts, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk, reminds her of Ren. Did he pick that up from her? “But, I’m hungry!”

Sighing half-heartedly, Makoto dips a clean spoon into the mixture and guides it towards Futaba’s open mouth. “Be careful – “

Swift as the wind, Ren unmistakably swoops in, wrapping his mouth around the end before muttering, “Thanks Makoto, don’t mind if I do.”

Futaba screeches about thievery (How fitting), Morgana tuts endlessly about Ren’s terrible behaviour, and Makoto’s uncharacteristic yelp leaves her a flushed, flustered mess. He just _flicked_ her on the forehead with his trigger finger, for Christ’s sake. Sign of affection? Debatable. One thing she was certain of, it hurt.      

“Something wrong, Makoto?”

“N-not at all!”

Behind her, Ren represses the urge to snigger. And Makoto’s urge to destroy him with an uppercut to the chin has reached an all-time sky-high.

“I saw that,” Morgana points out, stretching his body before hopping off the counter towards Ren’s feet. “That’s not very gentlemanly.”

“You saw _nothing_ ,” Ren replies pointedly, reaching into a shelf for three bowls. “Do you want some too, Morgana?”

Morgana lets out a vicious hiss. “I’m not sharing with Futaba _or_ you if that’s what you’re thinking! I want my own bowl!”   

Ren scoops the curry with a side of rice, passing it along to the others as Futaba joins them at the counter, sliding into a seat. And when Futaba inhales the scent wafting from her bowl, she instantly coos, “This definitely smells like how Mom used to make it! Man, Makoto, whoever marries you will be _so_ lucky. You’ll definitely make a top-tier wife someday!”

 _Hmm. Where have I heard that before? I can’t seem to remember._ “Such high praise, Futaba, thank-you,” Makoto says, wiping her hands on the apron. “But really, it’s your mother and Boss that we have to say thank-you to for developing such a wonderful recipe.” 

“You gotta have the cooking skills to back that up, though!” Futaba doesn’t seem keen on dropping the topic just yet. “Whoever your husband is, a hundred percent guaranteed he’ll end up fat – “

Standing next to Makoto, Ren uncharacteristically chokes on his sip of tea.

“ _And_ happy.”

Futaba’s not wrong there:  Eating _is_ happiness.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it like that,” Makoto says nervously. “Happy, yes. At an unhealthy weight? No, _definitely_ not. I would, however, like a dependable person as a partner.” That piques Ren’s interest; he feigns intrigue in his mushy brown goop, but his ears are on red alert.

“My sister has always said that if I were to get married,” She continues. “That person should be someone I can count on.”

“How ‘bout _Joker_? Joker’s pretty reliable in a pinch if you need him to be,” Morgana chimes in, whiskers covered in sauce.

Their subsequent reaction – flushes of the face, pig-like squeaks from her and gruff coughing from him – says it all.

While surprised at Mona’s sudden bluntness, Futaba can’t help but smirk deviously. The cat may overreact and dramatize situations at times to make them appear ten times direr than they actually are, but his honesty was much appreciated. _Very good, Mona._

The two very uncalm individuals scramble about on their feet, squealing (Rather pitchy, mind you) that they both had to work on their dishes. Futaba spares a glance at the glowing young woman’s slender backside, frantically pulling rubber gloves on, and then at the taller, lanky young man. She watches in pure amusement as Makoto lightly pushes him away, advising him to preoccupy himself with other tasks. He ends up disappearing into the bathroom to do...Futaba’s honestly not sure what he’s doing in there. Calming his heart, maybe?

Mona’s dumbfounded expression fades into one of bewilderment. Futaba knows exactly what he’s trying to say (Maybe with less enthusiasm, but still):  _So cute!_

Her two favourite members within the Phantom Thieves – Inari being an exception – were confirmed to be in a secretive relationship. And while she would’ve appreciated a proper confession from the both of them, she shrugs her mild complaint away.

Makoto and Ren. Geez, even their names sounded perfect together. RenKoto? MakoRen? Amajima? _Niimamiya_!? Ah, well. She says good-bye – Ren hollers out something strained from the tiny bathroom - hugging Mona close to her chest as she exits the café. She has plenty of time to settle the details later with Ann.

Makoto, however, is once again left _very_ disappointed.

The curry displayed its delicious, consistent flavour profile as always; beef stewed to the ideal chewiness. But she muses, it’s not the sole reason behind her growing affections for the younger boy. That was still very much a mystery that needed to be solved.

On the other hand, Futaba’s sly jabs regarding marriage, Morgana’s suggestion on _marrying_ Ren (Goodness gracious) and the endless praise on her motherly qualities... _somehow_ triggered a rather concerningly wild fantasy within her mind. It’s so inappropriate to be thinking about marriage at this point in her life, when she’s so young, so unsure of the world, so _insecure_. She hasn‘t even graduated high school yet! 

But that’s what idyllic fantasies _are_ , right? She shouldn’t be feeling this much guilt just for imagining a prospective future with the first – and _only_ – person she has liked thus far in all eighteen years of her life.

And if she were fortunate enough, if he was willing to stay by her side for the remainder of their lives, then – 

No. _No, no._ That’s most likely not going to happen. She’s read up extensively on high school relationships for ‘background reading’, and as saddening as it was, most ended after graduation due to a yearning for new experiences.

It’s understandable. People sought out changes and the unknown all the time. Hell, just look at her classmates. They got together and broke up like it were no big deal.

But it’s different for her. It’s _Ren_. And just the very thought of Ren breaking up with her amiably, and then wrapping his arms around another girl – younger, prettier, modelesque (Why was she picturing Ann of all people?!) - left her heart in shattered pieces and irises wet.

Makoto didn’t want to fathom it.

The bathroom door creaks open, and Ren finally emerges after God knows how long. 

“Oh, thank goodness, Ren,” She whirls around, breathless. “I thought – I thought you had fainted?”

“It takes much more to render the leader of the Phantom Thieves unconscious,” He chuckles. “Here, give me the brush. I’ll help.”

And she does; he ends up towering beside her with his elbow grazing her own from time to time. 

_Clink. Clink._

Several minutes in, Ren’s voice penetrates through the aching silence first, his tone neutral. “Makoto, do you have plans to get married?” 

_My God, Ren, of course, I do. No, don't say that._

So instead, “Someday, Ren” is her muted reply. ”Someday.”

She doesn’t dare mention that she has him pictured in her imagination at the altar, or that she wants him to become the source of her endless sighs until her hair faded into a shiny silver colour, or the one that she’ll always lend an ear to – regardless of how hard of hearing she may be at sixty-five.

For a moment, Ren keeps his lips together, pursed in silence, but soon after, they uplift into a charming grin. As he stares into the suds, a blush creeping onto his face, he murmurs gently, “I’m looking forward to it.”

The soapy dish that she has in her hand slips out of her weakened grasp, and back into the basin with a sickeningly loud c _rash._

* * *

Perhaps it’s in the way he unabashedly grabs hold of her wrist in the deserted hallway, asking for a spontaneous date outside the student council office that Thursday afternoon. Because the moment his skin contacts hers, a pleasant spark jolts up her arm and into her system, leaving her nerves a hyperactive mess as they fired uncontrollably at one another.    

The theory is admittedly weak, but she was seriously lacking ideas on her list. And even if she were wrong, at least she _had_ explored the possibility, right?

“I’m sorry I zoned out,” She says, stilted. Shaking her head, she smiles sheepishly. “Would you mind saying it again?”

“A date.” He repeats after she glances at him blankly. He releases her wrist from his grip, and right away, her tingling nerves relax. Strange. “Let’s go on a date today if you’re free. I haven’t seen you much recently.”

His forthrightness is nothing of surprise to her; he displays that attitude in a merciless – almost hostile – way whenever he dealt with Shadows, forcing them onto their knees pitifully as they pleaded for mercy. The difference this time, however, was in the tonality of his voice: Gentle, tender and sensitive. 

Her left foot unconsciously taps against the hardwood floor, apprehensive. “Ren, I would love nothing more than that, but don’t you think we should meet up with the others to progress through Okumura’s Palace and strategize our next – “

“A queen needs to relax, too,” He interrupts. “Please? Just this once?”

One look into his puppy-dog eyes and Makoto can’t help but cave in, knowing instantly that her attempts to resist were futile. To hell with the complex labyrinth of a space station. One day away wouldn’t set them behind their deadline _too_ much. 

So here they are, exiting the school together into the empty courtyard. The remaining sunlight peeks out from a turret of clouds beyond the horizon, spreading a warm, yellow glow into the chilly September air. Autumn arrived quickly this year, and Ren, ever so observant, glances at her hunched back and her hands rubbing her arms repeatedly to preserve her body heat. “Are you cold?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” The last thing she needed was for him to use that as a smooth excuse to hug her. “Where do you suggest we go?” Pausing, she giggles in embarrassment and adds softly, “I’m very sorry. You’re the one who isn’t local to Tokyo. I should be the one making recommendations on where to go. Unfortunately, I never really – “

“Don’t worry about it,” Ren cuts in, stepping onto the descending escalator of Aoyama-Itchome Station. “Besides, I wouldn’t really be fulfilling my duties as a boyfriend if I were to ask you to do the planning now, would I?” He suggests going to _Jinbocho_ to check out some of the old bookstores.  Not exactly a place for a romantic rendezvous, but she agrees. She’s been needing new reading material for quite some time.

“Plus, we could also look through some of the old Japanese literature for battle tactics that we can apply in the Metaverse.”

There’s something in the way she cutely clenches her hands into fists that makes him laugh. “Really, Makoto? That’s what you’re looking for?” Ren chuckles deeply as they step onto the platform. “A queen never leaves her throne, even for a second.”

Suddenly self-conscious, Makoto stammers with her gaze averted away, “I-is that okay?”

“Be you, Queen,” He encourages with a light squeeze on her shoulder just as the subway slows to a halt and the doors open. Cotton doesn’t conduct electricity, right? If so, then why does he keep leaving these transient sparks everywhere he touches? “Be you, and I’ll be more than happy.”

A flurry of tuxedos and pencil skirts exit the train car, and Ren’s hot breath tickles the back of her neck. Wait, wait, wait. When did he get this _close_?! “On time for the rush-hour,” He murmurs, heaving a heavy sigh as a few more people hurriedly leave. “Makoto, stay close.”

Ren lightly presses a hand against her back, shoving her into the train. There was no personal space whatsoever, and Makoto quickly realizes in terror that they were going to pack together like sardines. The other passengers, she doesn’t mind – she's gotten used to peoples’ laptop bags and backpacks pressing up against her uncomfortably during her morning transit.

Ren, on the other hand, is an entirely different story. She’s sandwiched right between him and the automatic doors.

Makoto knows she’s being terribly rude, but she can’t turn around.

Absolutely refuses to.

She doesn’t need another heart attack in the making.

In retrospect, their positioning was beneficial to her since she got a clear view of his reflection through the glass. But she doesn’t need it to realize that he’s hovering close. So close to the point that she can feel the body heat radiating off him, and if she wasn’t mistaking that glint for a trick of the dimly-lit lights illuminating the car, a hint of a Chesire Cat-like smile was starting to grow on his face.

The proximity is tormenting her. He knows this. And he _likes_ this.

If she possessed half the courage that Ann displayed whenever Ryuji was caught staring with bedazzled eyes at her well-developed figure, she would’ve whirled around in an instant and told him off. The problem was, she couldn’t even bear to stare back at his reflection in shame: Disbelieving as it may seem in her rational mind, she liked it just as much – if not more.

_What is wrong with me?! Makoto, get it together!_

Instead, she averts her gaze downwards, boring intensely at the concrete tunnel that they’re passing through as she mentally counts down how many more minutes they had left on this trip.

Ten. Six hundred seconds. Somewhat doable.

“Interesting scenery, huh?” The rasp intrudes Makoto’s ear.

_(Nevermind)._

And it was then, at promptly 4:12 P.M., that she had experienced Newton’s First Law in the most mortifying way possible. The train slows to another stop at _Nagatacho_ Station, and the powerful force of inertia (Alongside a lack of support) throws Makoto off balance, leaving her no choice but to spin around like an inelegant ballerina –

And cling onto a fistful of his shirt as if her life depended on it.

Ren’s rescued her once during Futaba’s mission in the pyramids, pushing her out of harms’ way just as a collapsing stone pillar was about to squash her flat. That was two months ago. At the time, she treated it as nothing other than a good leader looking out for his teammates. Ann eventually makes a passing remark when they return to reality that the protective glare he sent Makoto showed ‘ _nothing less of endearment_ ’, but other than letting a faint blush dusting their faces, no further reactions were elicited.

Not that she had been expecting anything, really – they were in a crisis, after all. The only thing that mattered was saving the younger girl from years of guilt-ridden agony and the scorching heat. 

This time, though?

Makoto realizes that Ren has been hard at work, training his body after school – courtesy of Morgana and Ryuji – with the way his strong, muscular arm snakes around her shoulder blades to keep her afloat. It’s pushing her boundaries of comfort, yet, _why_ did it feel so irresistibly good when his hand adventurously slides downward and rests ever so tentatively on her waist?

She can literally _hear_ his cocksure grin when his free hand – decorated with a purplish bruise on one knuckle and a tiny scarring cut on his palm from their last encounter with five high-levelled Shadows – interlaces his fingers in between her own. She doesn’t resist ( _Can’t_ is the more correct term here), and he whispers, intimately so, “I see that the Queen has lost against the wild card.”

Before he has a chance to let any more sarcastic, witty remarks escape his lips, Makoto buries her head into his chest and mumbles defeatedly, “P-Please, Ren. D-don't say anything else; just let me stay like this, okay?”

“Of course.”

A correction is in order. This isn’t his fault at all. It’s all on her. _All_ her. Her, and her damn hormones that just can’t seem to relax whenever she felt his skin on hers.

It's perplexing – no, _infuriating_. Never mind the fact that she’s stuck in this endless conundrum that’s been plaguing her mind for weeks now, but every single time Makoto feels like she’s stepping in the right direction, Ren unconsciously forces her back to the drawing board.

Yet, funnily enough, she’s not as irate as she thought she _should_ be.

Rather, there’s a small part of her that doesn’t seem to really mind anymore. Well, at least not now. Not when her mind is so god damn hazy over the scent of caffeine and fresh mint drifting dreamily through the air.

* * *

Frui-Tea. It must be the Frui-Tea.

Makoto’s seen Ann reading a gossipy fashion magazine that had a similar enough recipe, and she had taped a sticky note next to it, written with scribbly, cute Kanji, _‘Ryuji’._ When the older girl confronts the blonde model about it, Ann only scratches the back of her head, playing dumb.

“I-I mean, R-Ryuji's always needing help with the ladies! I’m just trying to help him out! It’s a well-known tool in improving a persons’ charisma!” 

“Sure, Ann.”

There we go. That _had_ to be the key.

Recently, she notes with peculiarity that Ren’s skin seemed much smoother than usual when he greets her in the hallway. His normally dull and sleepy complexion did seem a little brighter; there was less acne dotting his jawline, and he seemed to be radiating a glow of some type. Angelic? Definitely not, but it was close.

No _wonder_ she found him so appealing.

All she had to do now, of course, was to procure the evidence that he was drinking copious amounts of it.

Makoto doesn’t exactly have all the time in the world to follow his every move, but ultimately comes to the consensus that discovering the truth required some form of sacrifice.

In short, she was going to stalk him. Yet again.

Prior to her involvement with the Phantom Thieves, she had infamously trailed after Ren from Shujin all the way to Shibuya as per Principal Kobayakawa’s instructions. She didn’t do a very good job, obviously, since Ren kindly informed her afterwards that she had been reading her _manga_ completely wrong the entire time.

So, she’s going to refine her sleuthing skills.

Firstly, by obtaining intel from the one person that knew him best:  Ryuji Sakamoto.

 _“Huh_? Well, I dunno, why are you asking?” The steely glint that she delivers shuts him right up, and he continues with a splutter, “I guess, uh, well, we kinda hang out whenever he’s free. We read _manga_ at the café, eat ramen, go to the gym, y’know.”

Which was less than helpful.

“He seems pretty busy right now, though,” Ryuji adds briskly, running a hand through his blonde hair. “Not too sure why. Always runnin’ off to Shibuya for somethin’.”

_Aha!_

Now that it was established that he ventured off to the bustling neighbourhood often, it was time to put her plan into action. She wasn’t going to blindly pick a book and hide her face behind it – no, that was for amateurs. Instead, she was going to make herself a nice, cozy home at a booth _in_ the diner. One closest to the window to overlook the overcrowded pedestrian crossing, but still safely tucked away from view from the other patrons.

If Akechi saw her now, he would’ve gleefully criticized her poor surveillance skills, then proceed to tell her off with that idiom about finding needles in haystacks.

The thing is though, Makoto’s quite confident. She’ll recognize Ren’s tall frame within seconds, and even if he _did_ catch her red-handed, she’ll just calmly explain that she found the diner atmosphere suitable for studying with a cup of coffee on the side.

At least, that’s how she expected the scenario to play out in her head.

It was her third day of staking out at the diner, and she was already feeling her patience grow thinner than a sheet of ice basked in bright sunlight. She’s grown tiresome of the bland, tasteless coffee and desperately wished for a mug of Ren’s Blue Mountain. As much as she liked young children, the noisy shouting and tearful sobbing was starting to give her a terrible migraine. And to make matters worse, she hasn’t caught sight of Ren at all.

Sighing, she glances at her watch and decides to pack up for the day. Shoving her untouched notebook back into her school bag, she pays for her tab and descends the steep flight of steps. A few blocks up ahead where she’s waiting for the pedestrian signal to turn green, a hand wearing a recognizable brown wristwatch suddenly taps her shoulder gently.

Oh, my God. Her worst nightmare has come true.

 _“_ Why, hello there, Makoto. Fancy seeing you here.” Ren’s drawling isn’t helping the situation whatsoever. “I thought you told me you had student council activities to tend to?”

“U-Um – “

“How odd. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. You see, I kept seeing a girl with short brown hair, prancing around in Shujin’s skirt the past few days, but never did I expect you. Actually, you’re the person I least expected to show up here. Perhaps,” One step forward, two steps back. “You’re here for a specific purpose?”

“Er - “ She can’t lie to him. Not like this; he’s rendered her temporarily speechless.

“And maybe,” His mouth curls into an arrogant smirk. “Just maybe, you’re stalking me. Yet again?”

 _Busted._   

“W-well, no, not really,” She says, mumbling the latter part rather quietly.

“Not _really_?” Ren repeats with an eyebrow quirked upward. He’s searching her with a scrutinizing gaze. “So, you sort of are, then? I must say, your dedication towards me is much appreciated. I guess I’m just that irresistible, hmm?”

 _Yes!_ “N-no!” She screams this out a little too loud for her liking. Covering her mouth with her hand, she nods apologetically to a seething grandmother walking a rather terrified-looking poodle. “Anyway,” She secures the hairband on her head. Say something. _Anything!_ Ask him how he found out!

“I’m waiting – “

“U-um, have you been drinking the Frui-Tea?”

_Wow, Makoto. Of **all** the questions you could’ve asked._

Ren’s expression changes into one of confusion. _“_ Wait, what? Am I drinking the –”

“Frui-Tea,” Morgana clarifies, popping out of Ren’s bag, looking miffed. He gave the term sourpuss a whole new meaning with his frown. “You know, the drink that was released back in August? I told you about it, but _apparently_ , you don’t need the charm. I could use some, though!” He sighs, unmistakably whispering into the crisp October breeze in complete adoration, “Ah, Lady Ann.”

“Oh, _that_ putrid vomit.” Ren wrinkles his nose in disgust, his body shivering. Makoto reasons that if he was a regular drinker, he wouldn’t be using the words ‘putrid vomit’ to describe its flavour. “I tried it once. Never again. Makoto, why...are you asking?”

“N-no reason!” Makoto squeaks, mentally palming her forehead. _Think fast, think fast, think fast._ “W-well, what do you even do in Shibuya on days like these?”

“I have several part-time jobs,” He explains, beckoning her to follow his frame with a flippant wave of his hand. They descend a flight of stairs, then a few more, until they reach the stuffy underground mall, and he gestures towards the lonely flower shop, tucked away in the corner of the hall. Or at least, that’s what she originally thought. The storefront is overcrowded with passerby's and bursting with vibrant colours; the hard-working senior florist – a lovely girl with a dimpled smile and a ponytail cascading down her back – bows politely to a customer clutching a bouquet of sunflowers. “And lately, I’ve been at the florists’ in the underground mall.”

Wait, that’s **_it_**?! All her hard work had been for nothing, then!

She lets out a hollow “Oh”, questioning whether flowers had a therapeutic effect for the skin, and the thin line on Ren’s face uplifts into a teasing grin.

“You’re welcome to watch me here, too, by the way. I hear the ladies go maniacal for a man who knows his way with plants.”

“An intriguing idea, but perhaps next time” is all she dryly murmurs.

Just then, a third person with a feminine, cheery lilt resounds from behind them. Ren’s supervisor walks up with a welcoming smile after tending to the last customer, and a _Tokobushiya_ shopping bag is in her grasp.

Ren’s handsome face automatically drains of any remaining colour, and right away, Makoto deduces that something’s wrong.

“Oh, Ren, there you are! Thank goodness you dropped by again, you forgot this!”

“U-um, right! Thank-you!”

Something’s _very_ wrong. Ren’s not one to act nervous under any circumstance.

He hurriedly grabs the bag and stuffs it into his bag, mumbling a second muted thanks of appreciation before dragging Makoto away. They’ve just turned the corner when Mona’s head suddenly pops out into view, his mouth clenching the handle of the bag.

“Makoto, take this! Take it with you before the crazy fool takes it home with him and tortures himself all day long – “

“Huh?! Wait, god _DAMNIT_ , Morgana!” Makoto doesn’t know who looks more ridiculous:  Ren, attempting to cram the scrambling cats’ head back into his bag, or Morgana, swiping at Ren’s hands viciously with his tiny paws and muttering haphazard threats under his breath (Something about scimitars and slingshots). Mona eventually gains the upper hand with a ferocious scratch on his hand, and leaps out of the bag straight into Makoto’s dangling arms.

“Ow, _Mona_!”

“Thanks for the catch, Makoto,” Morgana says with a grin. “Here’s your consolation prize.”

Ren’s arms lay limp at his side, lips quivering as if wanting to protest weakly. Morgana, infuriated, only snarls at the taller man: “Not today, Ren. You said it’s for her, so _give_ it to her!”

Gingerly, she opens up the shopping bag and peers inside. “Oh?” She reaches her hand in and pulls out something wrapped in hard plastic. “Oh, my. It's – “

It’s the pristine motorbike figurine she’s had her eyes on for a while. Makoto has gushed about the chrome wheels, the craftsmanship and the immaculate details before to Futaba, so she isn't at all shocked that Ren would eventually find out.

But then, that also begs the question of money. When she gazed at it longingly through the display case, her heart had lurched with unmistakable pain at the expensive price tag hanging next to it. She decided that she would use that amount for a newer laptop model for college rather than splurge on something that she could only look at and admire.

So, _how_ in the world did Ren – a typical high school student – save up enough so that he could gift this to her? 

Wait.

_“Always runnin’ off to Shibuya for somethin’.”_

_“I have several part-time jobs.”_

Why didn’t she see it before? God, and she’s presumably the _brains_ behind the Phantom Thieves.

Ren awkwardly glances at the model, then to the motionless Makoto, and proceeds to cough to clear his throat. “Um, I saw this in _Akihabara_ the other day with Futaba, and the figurine reminded me of Johanna. I just – um, you know. Wanted to give it to you for the sake of it. Do you like it?”

How strange. Had it been anyone else that proved her wrong, her characteristic reaction would’ve been to sulk childishly into a corner. Instead, she clutches the glinting figurine with a genuine smile growing on her face and discovers with fascination that sometimes, she doesn’t _always_ have to be correct. She’s touched. She really is. Nobody had ever gone out of their way and inconvenienced themselves with part-time jobs after school just to buy her something she coveted.

“I don’t think like is the right verb to use here, Ren. I – I _love_ it.” The crimson meets with obsidian once more, her irises sparkling, hoping that it was enough to convey a three-worded message that she very dearly wanted to say to him.

* * *

Joker.

While she knows this is a bit of a stretch, Makoto sometimes questions whether she solely attracted to his alternative form that existed within the Metaverse.

This alter ego of his, she admits, was elegantly debonair and handsomely suave in terms of physical attributes:  From the all-black outfit billowing out from behind him as he jumped effortlessly through the air, to the red leather gloves, to the elegant white and black mask that highlighted his sharp jawline, to the way he so casually whipped out the stainless steel Makaronov from his belt and pulled the trigger to fire a warning shot at the Shadows that he was not one to be underestimated: He literally sprang to life from the pages of her old _shonen manga_.

But the thing was, it wasn’t _just_ the outer appearance that made such an outstanding impression on her.  Rather, it was his impeccable leadership ability that captivated her attention. She may be student council president, but it’s unfair to compare the responsibilities of that role to those of the leader of the Phantom Thieves. It's like comparing apples and oranges – it just can’t be done.

He’s single-handedly guided them through the complicated twists and turns within Palaces, kept a watchful eye on the others to ensure that they had enough energy to continue even when he himself was drained, encouraged them to keep going during times of stressful hardship (Particularly during the aftermath of Okumura’s Palace), fought with a tenacity that set their hearts aflame with passion to help those whom were suffering – in those instances, she felt like she was reliving those short memories with her father, and it made her fall in love all over again. 

Fall in love...and also worry. Was she mistaking that attachment for admiration? She’s not sure; she hasn’t had much time to think things through. She’s been rather preoccupied running around the noisy casino that made up Sae’s Palace in the past few days.

Despite the rather short deadline, they’ve made rather excellent progress, arriving at the high limit floor with newfound determination. The Treasure was just a bridge away.

The House of Darkness presented little to no troubles (Aside from Makoto having to cling onto Ren’s arm for support whenever they heard incoming footsteps), but the final obstacle now stood before them:  The dreaded Battle Arena, beckoning their entry with the crowd of jeering spectators anticipating the clashes to come. 

“Only one participant,” The shadow attendant says stiffly. and almost automatically, everyone turns their heads towards an expressionless Joker.

Makoto understands that their leader has to be the one to do this. As Akechi says, he’s swift and highly adaptable in high-pressure situations.

But it doesn’t stop her from being the first person to open her mouth in protest. Ren’s endured through so much already. Too much, actually. From a lonely school transfer, to the nameless accusations, to his near-expulsion from Shujin. And she knows that was just the _tip_ of the ice berg. While she didn’t have any doubts about his skill, the idea of putting him through a series of battles...really, was this necessary? She’d take his place if she could manipulate multiple Personas like him. Maybe there was a loophole around this. “There has to be another way, isn’t there?”

Even through his sharp-nosed mask, she senses a questionable gaze sent from Akechi’s direction. “You do understand what the consequences of forfeiting the challenge are, right?”

“I do,” Makoto snipes back hotly. She didn’t intend to sound so defensive, but the mere thought of Ren endangering himself for the group ignites a turbulent fire of anger that takes over her entire being. “But it’s dangerous. We’re all aware that my sisters’ Shadow doesn’t play fair in this world. Who knows what kind of tricks she’ll pull?”

As the others murmur agitatedly over what to do, the one person whom had stayed silent the entire time saunters towards her, and places a tight hand – enveloped in bright-red – on her shoulder. Makoto shuts her eyes tightly. _Joker. How ironic that you’re offering me comfort. It shouldn’t be like this. It should be the other way around._

“It’s okay, Queen. I can do it.” He lets go of her much too quickly for her liking, and tucks his hands back into the pockets of his black trousers. HIs boots clack loudly against the floor, and she opens her eyes to the sight of him standing near the gated entryway into the arena.  

“Joker.” His name escapes off her tongue in a plea. 

“Trust me.” He reassures, nodding at his teammates. Ann implores him to not do anything reckless, and Morgana tells him he won’t forgive him if he doesn’t come back in one piece. With a final, dependable smile gracing his lips, he adds before taking off, “I’ll be safe.” 

So, here she is now, taking a seat between Haru and Ann on the sidelines. Her hands folded in her lap as if she were praying, and she’s heaving heavy breaths every few seconds or so to keep herself from hyperventilating. The participants have yet to appear, and Joker – Joker’s figure looks so far away from where she is. What is he thinking about right now? She watches as he adjusts his leather gloves, pulling them tighter around his hands. She wants to hold them – no, hold _him_ close and safe.    

Ann’s gentle voice disrupts her train of thought. “Are you okay, Queen?”

To which she replies, “I will be after it’s over.”

Haru gives her a comforting squeeze. “Joker is very dependable, Mako- _chan_. Please, don’t worry too much.”

Even though Haru’s words ring true, even if Makoto does hold deep trust in him, she can’t _help_ but worry.

The bell rings, signifying the start of the first battle. Two helmet-clad elephants clutching swords join the arena, and Ren prepares himself for the fray with a Persona switch. Ann’s shouting something about rules being ignored, while Ryuji’s foul mouth runs amuck with a sling of curses a few spots away, but Makoto manages to tune them out. 

_Ren. We’ve exchanged hands with them before. They’re highly vulnerable against the psychic elements –_

“Mapsio!” A hitched breath escapes her lungs in relief as she watches Ren’s powers overthrow the two easily, sending them tumbling to the ground and fading away into oblivion.

“He did it.” Ann says in awe.

“Yes,” Makoto nods in agreement. The initial fear starts to slowly, but surely disappears. She stands up, too caught up in the next skirmish against three red-skinned Shadows. He vanquishes them with pillars of yellowish-white light and turns his head towards them with a confident smile. “But we shouldn’t let our guards down. You never know when the tables can turn.”

As she had expected, it was too good to be true. The third enemy – a ginormous being carrying an iron hammer – materializes in front of Ren, and her blood runs frigidly cold. “What on Earth?!” The announcer, clearly fed up with Ren’s successes in the previous two matches, orders the towering Thunder Emperor to grind his bones to dust. Ann notices alarmingly as Makoto’s knuckles turns stark-white as she presses her tightly folded hands against her lips, wrinkles furrowed in frustration. He’s tried a multitude of elemental and physical attacks, and while the giant was clearly worn out from the ordeal, he still put up a great fight.

The enemy swings his weapon towards Ren, barely evading the sudden attack. She doesn’t miss the pained flinch that flashes momentarily across his face when the hammer grazes his left knee. The impact rips through the fabric of his pants, leaving behind a bloody-looking gash and he ends up staggering back a few steps, changing tactics by calling forth a newly-acquired Persona for defense.

She’s so powerless in this situation:  Him, fending for his life, and her, watching the person she loved get harmed. He’s at a clear disadvantage right now; the Thunder Emperor is taking the opportunity to charge up his focus for a devastating final blow. If it wasn’t enough to kill, then certainly, Ren will be suffering some serious repercussions at the end. There has to be a weakness to exploit.  

 _Fire, ice, wind, nuclear, psychic – no, he hasn’t tried psychic attacks yet!_ “Joker!” She suddenly hollers; she didn’t care whether the other members were gaping at her with incredulous looks. Ren’s safety was at stake. “Don’t back down! Use your psychic powers!”

The announcer points warningly at her. “You’re not playing fair!”

Makoto scoffs. “The word ‘ _fair_ ’ doesn’t exist in this casino.”

A blast of magenta, yellow and turquoise erupts in the middle of the stadium, leaving behind an overwhelmingly powerful impact that unleashes a violent gust and smoke and debris throughout the arena. Makoto braces herself against the explosion and covers her mouth, spluttering, “Joker?!”

At long last, a lean figure shakily gets back to his feet, and Makoto exhales in relief. He’s covered in filth, and there’s dried blood stained on the ground, but other than that, he looks...fine. Shaken, but alive and well.

“...Thank God."

They reunite with Ren at the entrance: Ryuji, Yusuke and Futaba cheer with all dignity lost, commending him on a job well done; Ann and Haru gushing over his cool display; Akechi acknowledging the younger mans’ instincts without a single sarcastic snipe. Morgana looks over Ren before muttering with furrowed brows, “Joker, you’re hurt.” 

“Ah,” He says, glancing at the crusty bloodstain on his leg. “That’s right. It’s fine; it’s just a cut. No need to get worked up over it.”  

“Here, let me.” Makoto interrupts abruptly, striding over. Getting onto her knees, she hovers her glowing hand over the gash, eyes focused. After a few moments, she finally breaks the silence and says appreciatively, “Joker, thank-you. You did very well.”

Ann exchanges a beautifully triumphant grin with Ryuji as she nods towards the couple. _They're so inconspicuously sweet, aren’t they?_

To which Ryuji mouths back, _for real._ Surprising:  He’s not as harebrained as most people would’ve thought.

With the trials on the high limit floor complete, the group agrees to resume the infiltration the next day. Akechi has paperwork to finish at the police station before returning home, so he bids them farewell first. Then, coincidentally, Futaba and Morgana have _‘things to do before heading back to Leblanc’_ , dragging a rather giggly Haru with them, and Ryuji and Ann ask Yusuke to tag along to Shibuya for ‘ _something_ ’.

“They’re...behaving rather odd. Do you think they know?” Makoto asks, her tone uncertain as they make their way to the nearest train station together. She has a hesitant arm hovering behind Ren’s lower back, in fear that he would collapse.

“Frankly, what does it matter?” She doesn’t reply, but she knows he’s right. Taking a glance at his fatigued expression, then at his wobbly stance, she adds, concerned, “Are you okay, Ren?”

“Never better. Nothing a painkiller can’t manage. I just need a rest – ”

She cuts him off curtly. “Ren.”

“...Yes?”

“I know I said this already, but, you did very well.” At last, Makoto lets herself smile. It’s been a while since she’s been able to show genuine happiness, given what has happened in the past month. “Thank-you very much for your hard work. You have no idea how much this means to me – for you to help save my sister.”

“You sound like the Metaverse app’s voice.” He jokes lightheartedly, caressing her outstretched forearm. Even in times like these, he’s still so composed – what a contrast compared to her. “But on a serious note, you don’t need to express gratitude for something like this, Makoto. We’re a team, and I’m your leader.  Everyone should be able to rely on me.”

“I do. I think that you’re an excellent leader.” Makoto nods in agreement, crossing her arms against her chest. “But, it’s just that...” Voice faltering, she closes her eyes shut and the earlier memories from the Battle Arena rewinds in her mind like a vivid, cinematic movie. “I can’t bear to see you risk your life like that. I don’t know what this is; call it a sense of protectiveness, I guess. All I know is that it hurts me that I can’t do anything to help.”

“Makoto.”

And she takes his hand in hers, brushing dust off the sleeve of his blazer. There’s a frayed rip at the end. When did that happen? “To see you _so_ defenseless.” 

Makoto has never been this intimately candid with someone before. It’s a rather foreign experience for her to spill out her feelings, but it surprises even the best of her when everything she wants to say leaves her system without a single stutter. It feels – _good_ , she realizes, to be so forthright with Ren. To have that pressure on her shoulders evaporate. To have someone like him for a confidant, a partner.

The crosswalk light flickers neon-green, but they both remain stationary and silent.

He keeps his hardened gaze concentrated on her, and tiny discomfort starts to grow in her stomach.

“Did I say something – ?”

“No. No.” Ren wastes no time in enveloping her in a reassuring hug. “You just surprised me, that’s all.” A contented exhale escapes his lungs, and Makoto can’t tell where the intense thrumming is coming from. Maybe him. Most likely her. Perhaps, both? “Thank-you for being honest. I appreciate it.”

“...”

“And you.” He says, voice muffled. “I appreciate you much more than words can ever say.”   

 _Ren, I hope you know it’s more the other way around._ “We’ll save her.”

“Yes, we will. I know that actions are better than words, Makoto, but I promise you, we’ll save Sae. Even if my life depended on it. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

His undeniable commitment makes her eyes bleary and wet with threatening tears. No, she won’t cry in front of him. Not like this. 

“I - I know.”

His hold on her tightens. “Let’s just stay like this.”

“Just a little longer.” She agrees.

Ren’s dependability, as she realizes later on her transit back home, doesn’t just exist in the Metaverse. And that just made Makoto’s love for him multiply ten – no, a _hundred_ -fold.     

* * *

It was snowing on Christmas Eve. And it’s still snowing when Makoto opens her eyes to Christmas Day at seven thirty in the morning. Feathery, light flakes of white that dusts Tokyo in a silent blanket, as if it were confetti raining down from the heavens to celebrate the end of the final battle.

That's right, she recalls bitterly. They won: The Phantom Thieves’ victory against Yaldabaoth.

But despite that, the atmosphere surrounding the Phantom Thieves is depressingly grim. Morgana’s gone. To where, nobody knows. Their friend – the one that had been with them since the very beginning – disappeared without a trace after exchanging a sorrowful farewell.

She remembers poor Haru’s being wrapped in Ann’s comforting arms, and as strong-willed as the model is, even she can’t stop crystal-like tears from shedding. And despite Ryuji’s dislike for the cats’ condescending attitude, Makoto caught unmistakable pain in his eyes before a blank stare took its place.

And Ren.

She knows it was rather selfish of her to ask him to spend Christmas Eve together, especially given what had just happened, but much to her surprise, he said yes.

They both needed a means to distract themselves, and walking alongside the streets of Shibuya together achieved that. He pointed out the festive lights decorating the city in hues of silver and gold; she shyly mentioned something about taking photos together in front of a brightly-lit Christmas tree, and he complied. She set it as her background automatically. He didn’t have a gift for her, and while he looked truly guilty when she presented him the beautifully-wrapped box holding a new wristwatch, she reassured him that gifts weren’t necessary. Their relationship wasn’t built on superficial things.

All had seemed well.

But there was a nagging suspicion that had kept building up within her. At the time, she couldn’t exactly pinpoint what triggered it, but certainly, there was something...strange about Ren. He seemed more aloof, more detached than usual. As if a mental anchor had been weighing him down heavily.  

_“Hey. You’re…hiding something from me, aren’t you?”_

_He deliberately clears his throat loudly, offering, “I’ll walk you to the station.”_

_“No. It’s fine.” She turns away, looking down at her scuffed boots. “...Good-night.”_

Not even twenty-four hours later, she has to find out the hard way. 

The welcoming bell clinks gently in the background, signifying the arrival of the others. Ryuji and Ann cheerfully shout their good mornings, only to stop when they take notice of the somber ambiance.

“W-wait, what’s wrong?”

Makoto refuses to speak for a few moments, but after regaining her composure, she opens her mouth. Eyelids aflutter, she hopes that they won’t catch the bloodshot whites brimming with tears wanting to escape. 

“Um...”

“It’s okay,” Sojiro interjects. “I’ll explain.” Taking in a deep breath, he says, “Ren turned himself to the police.”

She’s not even the one who has to inform them about it, but having to hear the news again – it leaves her completely shattered.

* * *

The first time it happened, the intentional capture was part of the plan, but that didn’t make Makoto hate it any less:  The ruthless torture, the unknown drugs that they were injecting to force him into spilling the truth, the merciless abuse against a seventeen-year-old whom was simply trying to do some good in the world. It infuriated her how good people had to suffer like that; she remembers puncturing the skin on her palm from her nails. Haru had to alert her about the traces of blood seeping through.

To say that she was worried was an understatement. It burdened her heart heavily for those few days when he was gone, and even though she had braced herself for the news of his ‘death’ just like everyone else, it terrified her to see the text light up on her screen. Suicide, they reported. It just seemed so surreal to see it. As if he would sign away his death warrant so willingly and leave them behind.

Thankfully, Akechi fell for their trap. Ren came back, bruised, battered and bandaged. But most importantly, alive. She never left his side after Sae had rescued him from the interrogation room, working alongside Takemi and Sojiro to administer medicine and fluids to help him recover.

“He must be really important to you.” Takemi had said observantly with a smile while discarding her nitrile gloves into the nearby waste bin.

 _Yes._ She replied with a nod, unconsciously running a hand through the sleeping boys’ hair. As she curls herself up into a tiny ball on his couch and drifts off to a rather restless slumber, she thinks, _Yes, indeed, he is._

Yet, heartbreakingly enough, she’s not important enough for him to tell her that he would be sacrificing himself for their sake. And, to have her very own sister, _Sae_ , apprehend him?! Makoto can’t recall the last time she felt like dying. Granted, she’s had a few close calls, but this – this type of pain. It’s not synonymous to being threatened by a mobster, or Shido. Or even Yaldabaoth. 

It’s excruciating; never has she ever felt such unbelievably strong grief, striking at her heart like a thunderclap every single time someone mentioned Ren.

“God damnit!” Ryuji shouts in frustration, pounding his fist against the table. “What the hell are we gonna do?!”

As the others sit in silence, Makoto laments on memories from the night before. There were so, so many things she should’ve done. She should’ve pushed him forcefully for answers. He should’ve told her. They could’ve faced it together. Because that’s what she’s here for, right?

Makoto sighs. It’s much too late for regrets at this point, but even with that in mind, she can’t help but feel useless. She’s like a gun without the ammo:  Powerless. Noisy, at best. Ren’s possibly at the precinct right now, facing the police all alone. She knows that Sae will do her best to ensure things go smoothly, but that didn’t change the fact that he was guaranteed detention in juvenile hall.

And what was _she_ doing? Living her life like a normal citizen, scot-free. As if everything was fine.

“Excuse me,” she suddenly says. Ryuji scoots out of the way, glancing at her skeptically.

“Y’okay, Makoto?”

“Yes. I just, ah, have to use the restroom.”

No, she’s not. She excuses herself to use the single-stall bathroom once to cry silently.

Then twice.

And by five o’clock, she’s already lost count.

* * *

“Freedom comes with a price.” Sae says simply that night when she returns from the police station. She’s as gray and sallow as her hair, Makoto realizes. The initial anger that she had harbored from earlier and intended to lash out at her fades away, leaving nothing but sympathy for the older woman.

Still, she doesn’t look up from her untouched dinner, now cold. “How is he?”

“He’s treating his incarceration as is.” A bleak chuckle escapes Sae’s throat. “A typical walk in the park, he says. Nothing that he can’t handle. And he said,” Sae’s voice trails off before she resumes with a cleared throat. “To not worry about him.”

Makoto’s eyes narrow slightly at Ren’s cryptic message. Not to worry? That's all she’s done ever since last night. But nonetheless, after Ann’s motivational pep talk in the afternoon, she made a promise to herself: She’s not going to back down and revert back to the obedient student council president that she once was.

She’s not going to sit back and fret over what to do helplessly.

“If you see him again, relay this. We’re not giving up on him.”

* * *

Makoto’s keeping herself busy and occupied with things to do: University entrance exams; numerous phone calls back and forth; an attic that she kept wiping down of dust and debris; internal debates as to whether to purchase a new television monitor; a rusting bike that he’s never used that she’s performing maintenance for; learning how to make latte art with her friends and couldn’t wait to show off.

But even so, the first month moves at an agonizingly slow, almost snail-like pace.

The bitterly cold January seemed...never-ending. Makoto spares a glance at the frost-covered window, heaving a half-hearted sigh.  Stuck in eternal winter, awaiting Ren’s release.

Until then, Spring would never arrive until he was back.  

“I swear,” Ryuji moans, head resting on the booth table at Leblanc. “It’s January 74th.”

“Ryuji, it’s _only_ the 31st,” Ann rolls her eyes, flicking him in the forehead. Ryuji catches her wrist in his grasp, casting a warning glare at her warm face. She attempts to draw her hand back, but Ryuji only yanks her forward, settling her fingers on his scruff of blonde. “Don’t fight me. It _is_.” 

Futaba chuckles before directing her attention back to her laptop. “You must _really_ miss Mona if you want Ann to massage your head.”

The dirty glare remains, albeit slightly softened. “You take that back.”

“I must concur. The month feels – “ Yusuke comments slowly, and Makoto sets her coffee cup down with a concerningly loud thud, nodding in agreement.

“Unbearably long.” She finishes dully, twirling her spoon.

“We understand, Makoto,” Ann says sympathetically. “We know how much you miss him.” Just then, Ann’s turquoise-blue eyes suddenly light up like a lightbulb had just flickered on in her head. “Hey! I have an idea! Why don’t we go and see him?”

While Makoto’s heart leaps at her suggestion, she remains cool-headed with a curt shake. “The last time I asked, sis says that he doesn’t want to see any of us. At least, not yet anyway. Not in his current state.”

Ryuji snorts derisively. “Who does he think he _is_? That _dick_. I’m going to kill him when he comes back.”

“I can understand why he asked that of us,” She explains quietly. “But regardless,” Makoto’s eyes harden into a cold glare, tinted with steel. “Just like you, Ryuji, I won’t be going easy on him when he returns.”

Ryuji mumbles something indistinct at the back of the booth, but if Makoto’s ears weren’t deceiving her, it sounded along the lines of ‘ _being your boyfriend is hella terrifying_ ’.

“Actually, I do have to ask,” She says briskly, changing the topic at hand. “When did you figure it out, anyway? Was it during Sae’s mission?” They’ve kept their relationship under the radar rather well, but of course, raw emotion betrays even the most professional of poker faces.

Haru titters, overjoyed. “It was much earlier than that Mako- _chan_. I’m sorry to say, but we’ve known for quite some time now.”

Dubious, Makoto raises a questionable eyebrow at them. “Really, now? And how so?”

“I mean, if we’re talking about when feelings were starting to develop,” Ann says, finger tucked underneath her chin in contemplation. “I’d say...when he saved you in Futaba’s Palace – “

Ryuji waggles a patronizing finger in front of Ann. “Hell no, Ann. I feel like you need to go way further back than that!” With a shit-eating grin on the boys’ face, he chuckles, “What about when Makoto freaked out during the power outage at Boss’s house?!”

“Let’s -” Makoto fights the urge to snap at him. “ _Not_ bring that up, okay?”

But it’s too late – she’s opened up a can of worms she had no intention of unearthing from the ground in the first place.

“C’mon, Makoto,” Ryuji tuts. “You’re our fearless second-in-command! Why the hell are you scared of the **_dark_**?!”

“I believe there’s an official term for it called a ‘phobia’,” Yusuke says matter-of-factly.

“Ooh,” Futaba chimes in, the glass in her spectacles gleaming triumphantly. “I remember when they went on a curry date!”

The normally composed Yusuke can’t control his curiosity; he demands loudly, “ _What_ curry date?!”

“Shut up, Inari. Anyway,” The younger girl takes note of Makoto’s ghostly complexion, adding, “While I _would_ say I’m sorry for being a third wheel, I’m not.”

“We were _that_ obvious?” Her question comes out timid and meek, only to be drowned by Yusuke’s sharp cries.

“Futaba! Please **_answer_** my question!” The blue-haired young man is practically nose tip to nose tip with her at this point. “What curry date are you referring to!?”

“If I may also contribute,” Haru says kindly amidst the ear-shattering noise. “I think everyone can sense your affections for him, especially in the way you call out to him whenever he had to endanger his life. Do you remember the Battle Arena?”

Oh, Makoto remembers. How can she forget that moment when her heart leaped out of her chest in fear?

“Not just that,” Ann jumps in before Makoto has a chance to explain herself. Her face is burning up from bashfulness, and she feels like she’s submerged herself into a volcano; she never expected her fellow friends to be _this_ observant. “It's clear in the way you _look_ at him, Makoto. It’s like, instinctive? I don’t know how to describe it, but when we do succeed, when we fail, you two _always_ look at each other first.”

Now that was _news_ to her. “W-we do?”

“The way he looks at you too, my God,” Ryuji deadpans. “It’s like...like...”

Something in Makoto dreads Ryuji’s answer. “...Yes?”

“Cupid shit hearts on you two.”

Ann thwacks her hand against Ryuji’s head; well-deserved, but the blonde boy ends up evading her attack. “ ** _RYUJI_**! Can’t you say something a little more heartfelt?”

“Fine. If ya want me to be sappy and all. Well, Makoto, if that ain’t love, well then,” He says with a snigger, pocketing his hands into his jacket. “I don’t know what is. We see you, Miss Prez!” Ryuji shoots her a pair of finger guns, followed by a wink. Or, some semblance of a wink. “You might be shitty at this love stuff, but I gotta say, y’all are hella wholesome.”

“Very lovely.”

“A masterpiece worthy of its own exhibition.”

“Inari, can you shut **_up_**! Stop referring to them as your artwork!”

How long has it been since they’ve been able to act like this? So carefree? It certainly has been a while, that’s for sure.

Despite the fact that the severity of Ren’s situation continued to loom over their heads like a growing thundercloud, even Makoto herself can’t help but stifle a laugh – quietly at first, but then grows into a melodic aria of sincere happiness.

Maybe Spring will come faster than she originally believed.

* * *

Lo and behold, it does.

Makoto doesn’t dare believe it at first, but when Sae returns home that night, there’s a rare, satisfied smile settled beautifully upon her face; she really should smile more often. It suits her better than that deep frown she always carried.

“He’s free.” She confirmed. “As of tomorrow, he’s free.”

The younger Niijima only nodded in approval at the time, expressing her thanks to Sae with a tight embrace around her shapely figure before returning to her room to inform the others. As she had expected, they’re ecstatic; Makoto can hear their boisterous cheers from the other side of the receiver.

They all agree to meet up at Leblanc the next day promptly before eleven, but not before she stammers a gratuitous thanks for slaving away on this task for the past two months.

“We’re teammates, Makoto,” Ann reassures, voice cracking. “We’re here for a reason.” They hang up after exchanging an almost tearful good-bye.

And only then did she lock the door shut behind her, collapsing onto her floor cushion while hugging the Buchimaru plushie close to her chest. 

There wasn’t a proper word in the dictionary to describe the overwhelmingly powerful emotions invading her heart. 

She’s tired – no, she’s _exhausted_. She’s fine for the next little while if she doesn’t have to dial another number, or compile booklets of notes from old police reports.

She’s thankful – always, and hopes that she can express it better to her wonderful companions that she could call lifelong friends.    

And lastly, she’s relieved. 

Make no mistake. Makoto has a tremendously long list of things to tell Ren, to say to him, to reprimand him for his idiocy. But all that could wait. She wanted to feel the warmth of his skin against hers first.

Just to confirm that reality was, at last, much better than her dreams.

* * *

Ten feet away. The jet-black scruff. Obsidian irises that she’s dearly missed. Makoto’s breath hitches when he steps closer; this isn’t one of her lucid dreams again, right?

A quick pinch on her cheek brings her back to reality, and unconsciously, her lips curve into a smile. He’s here. She isn’t living in one of her fantasies that’s been plaguing her subconscious for the past month and a bit.

Ren’s surrounded by welcoming hugs from Futaba and Ann and fist bumps from Ryuji, but it’s clear who attracted his utmost attention.

“Um, we’ll leave you two be for now.”

Ryuji and Ann both shoot him teasing winks and a thumbs-up on their way out, while Yusuke and Haru send him knowing, encouraging grins.   “You’ve got this!” Futaba says with a cheerful fist pump into the air.

And with that, the café door falls shut.

Aside from the constant ticking of the minute hand on the clock, there was only dead silence. Makoto’s arms slowly fall to her sides unwillingly when Ren walks up to her, at a loss of words.

He takes her appearance in with widened eyes. It imprints in his mind like a stamp on paper – gaunt, pale, somewhat thinner than before. Had she been eating well during his absence?

“Hey.” 

“Hi.”

“It’s...been awhile, hasn’t it?”

A curt nod is exchanged. “Nice to see you again.”

The lack of pleasantness says otherwise, but Ren knows he shouldn’t be expecting some heartfelt cryfest from Makoto. It’s not in her nature to act so wildly dramatic. He inhales, slowly at first to calm the racing pulse throbbing against his wrist, then looks into her eyes.    

“I know you’re upset.” Ren begins, apologetic. “And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Makoto. I know I should have said something to you on Christmas Eve, but please understand. I firmly believe what I did was the correct – “ He doesn’t even manage to finish his sentence; Makoto’s palm comes flying through the air without warning, hitting his cheek with a painful smack. He recoils, stupefied. 

“You _should_ be. You _should_ be sorry. And don’t give me that nonsense,” She hisses, taking hold of his shoulders. Shaking him roughly, her voice raises furiously with every word that leaves her mouth. “How could you do that?! You – Ren. God, Ren. I hate you _so much_.”

Ren’s head snaps towards her in alarm. “Huh?”

Makoto’s not holding back. She raises a fist and punches against his chest. Then the other. And again, and again. Ren doesn’t know what hurts more:  The physical pain being inflicted, or the very fact that she’s kept her frustrations hidden away for _this_ long.

He can only imagine how many tears she must’ve shed; how many sleepless, melancholy nights stayed awake, lying in bed with only two photographs to leaf through on her phone when her heart ached for him; how many meals she prepared and wrapped up for the next day – only for her to forget eating again when she was too caught up in his testimonies and police report.

_How could I leave the person I love in such a terrible state?_

“And I hate that despite everything,” She continues, almost in desperation. “I _still_ love you. Do you know how much it hurt to be away from you? For you to be in a place where you’re so unprotected and suffering alone? We might not have been together long enough, but did you _really_ think that not telling me was the better option?!”

“I just – wanted to protect you.” His explanation comes out in a weak whisper. “To protect all of you. I didn’t want to drag you into this mess with me. Can’t you see?”

“Don’t use that as an excuse, Ren. Don’t you realize? I care about you so, so much.” There’s no doubting her conviction towards him. “And I don’t care how many times I have to say this, but I love you. Regardless of whatever trouble you get yourself into in the future, I want to endure it with you for as long as we’re together. I – I...” 

Makoto’s trembling starts to cease. Her grip on his shirt weakens, and she rests her forehead against his heaving chest. Through the hiccoughs and quiet sobbing that slowly bubbles out, she coughs out an agonizingly painful confession.

“I need you. Please, don’t leave me behind ever again.”

He doesn’t say anything, but she winces when she feels a sudden downpour of tears that cascade down his face and into her hair.

* * *

Nearly half a year together, and for the first time in her life, Makoto Niijima has encountered an unsolvable problem. They’re at Leblanc again, sipping coffee, reading novels, helping Boss whenever he called for assistance and enjoying each other's company as they always do. She’s finished her entrance exams now, and she’s joyful – elated, even – that Ren wastes no time in asking her for her post-exam schedule once she was done.

“Why do you ask?” She had questioned at the time as they walked hand-in-hand at the quaint Inokashira Park.

“And I’ll throw a question back at you, Makoto. Why wouldn’t I when I only have a month left in Tokyo? Time shouldn’t be wasted away like that when I have a queen that I want to please.”

Always a flatterer, he was.

But it was exactly the fact that she only had thirty days left to solve the unsolvable that prompted her to do the unthinkable:  Confront him head on.

“It’s not fair, you know,” She begins without looking up from one of the novels she was reading. He’s at his wooden desk, fumbling around with an extra lockpick he procured a few months back, but ends up discarding it altogether with a questionable look on his face. 

“Hmm? And what exactly is so unfair?”

Makoto’s rehearsed her script multiple times the night before; she stood in front of the bathroom mirror for nearly an hour while Sae was still wrapping up some paperwork at the office, two pages in hand full of poetic metaphors and romantic analogies comparing Ren to a complicated Rubrik’s Cube that she could not assemble correctly. 

Unfortunately, the extra practice did absolutely nothing for her when she meets his scrutinizing gaze. Everything she had memorized flushes out of her brain, leaving behind a jumble of words floating around, forming incoherent sentences. Like a refrigerator full of word magnets that couldn’t combine into comprehensible text. “I, um – oh, gosh, I – “

“Makoto?”

“What _is_ it about you, Ren?” She questions at last in exasperation.

He’s clearly taken aback. “I'm sorry, but did I do something wrong?”

“No. Well, yes. Well, okay, I’m not sure,” She finally admits, holding the book close to her face with trembling hands. “I love you so much, and I don’t know _why_. My apologies if this sounds awfully rude, but I never expected myself to fall so deeply for you. You weren’t my type when we met, but unexplainably, here we are now. And you...remind me of a puzzle, Ren. A complicated puzzle that I can’t solve.”

There. She’s said it, albeit rather jumbled, inconsistent and breathy at times. She inhales, preparing herself for whatever he had to say next.

Instead, Ren’s lips upturn into a satisfied crooked smirk after a period of stilted silence. Despite his regularly casual attitude towards practically everything, Makoto catches a glimpse of the charming Joker emerging in his smile and something sweet flutters away in her heart.

“My God, how refreshing it is to hear something so honest from you.” His airy laugh reverberates throughout his room, and Makoto feels her cheeks redden fifty shades deeper. Nearly half a year together, and she's still such an easy tease. She _sincerely_ hopes that she’ll get better with this as time goes on. “Don’t be shy. Come over here for a second.” With gentle prodding and a gaze as soft as cotton, he grabs ahold of her forearm before pulling her into his tight embrace, clumsily stumbling into his tiny makeshift bed.

Her breath hitches when a hand slides down her shoulder, resting against her hammering chest.

“Your heart’s pounding rather quickly. Are you alright?”

Another sigh. She turns away shyly, the shade of her face matching the colour of her eyes. “ _No_ , Ren. Do I give off the impression that I am?”

He sounds...triumphant. Snidely victorious, in a way. “I never knew being study partners could be this much fun.”

She cranes her neck towards him with skepticism. “I _highly_ doubt that.”

“How about that? You’ve caught me in my web of lies.”

 _“God_ , Ren. Please be serious.”

Laughing animatedly once more, he caresses her cheek with an endearingly soft hand. There’s so much love – unadulterated and pure – in his eyes, it makes her melt. “Here’s the thing. We all have types, but as we’ve seen through our adventures in the Metaverse, you can’t control what your heart wants.”

“That’s a fair assessment.”

Daringly bold, Makoto snuggles closer to Ren until she reaches a comfortable spot underneath his chin. She’s removed the headband, just to make sure it doesn’t dig into his skin. “And to be fair, Makoto.” She feels his jaw move upwards – he's smiling. “You weren’t exactly my type when I first met you either.”

His confession sends her panicking. “W-What?!”

“You _are_ rather domineering and abrasive at times.”

“R-Ren!” 

“And stupidly rash,” He finishes, his tone now turning disapproving. “I mean, what were you even thinking? Did you r _eally_ think that you could single-handedly deal with a well-known criminal on your own? And Kaneshiro, too, of all people! Imagine what would’ve happened if we weren’t there to intercept the situation. What would you have done then? How would we have felt?” Ren has never showed _this_ much anger before, but she knows:  It’s well-deserved. She _was_ behaving idiotically, and she shudders to think of what the potential consequences would’ve been if her friends hadn’t barged into the room and saved her.

Shifting her eyes, she mumbles, remorseful, “I’m sorry.”

“...But it’s because of Kaneshiro that I got to meet you, and understand you better.” Ren confesses softly. Tilting her head up with his thumb and forefinger on her chin, he says with his gaze locked onto hers wistfully, “I love you for you despite your imperfections.”

“Ren, I – “

“And rest assured.” Makoto doesn’t mind being cut off this time around. “There’s no person that I would want to be with other than you.”

“I believe you.”

“Good.”

And then, he kisses her senseless. Once, twice, and thrice.

Limbs end up entangled within his sheets, with her hands wrapped tightly to his t-shirt in a fervent need for more.  And inevitably, when he pushes her daintily against the bed and presses his being close to hers with her heart – no, her entire _soul –_ burning brightly in the muted darkness of the attic, Makoto finally has it pieced together.

She doesn’t deny:  There’s still much to learn about the complexities of love, but she ends up realizing, a lot of the times, emotions don’t _really_ have a logical explanation to them.  Feelings might not make proper sense. And that’s okay.

Because when the person holding her so fragilely in his arms made her feel so, _so_ complete and her heart so full, it simply didn’t matter.

**Author's Note:**

> ...Truth be told, I felt like I incorporated all the themes of ShuMako Week into this very long one-shot. LOL. Thank-you for reading! :3
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> (And now, back to my K-Pop fics!)


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